


George Knows

by curiouslyfic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, HP: EWE, Multi, Polyjuice Potion, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George isn't stupid. He knows that's not Fred. Just, he's not sure he cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	George Knows

**Author's Note:**

> For the [hp_3forfun](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_3forfun) prompt: "Think you're clever, do you?" he/she sneered. He/she smirked. "You know I do." Rockstar beta action by KittyFic, without whom this fic would not exist.

George knows--he's not stupid--George _knows_ that can't be Fred, who'd never been that old and who'd never lost an ear. So he knows with certainty that is _not_ Fred behind his wife, slipping his hands up her ribs and murmuring into her ear, making her laugh soft and low.

Her eyelashes sweep against her cheeks. She ducks her head as though that hides her smile at all and looks up coyly to meet George's stare. Then she arches a brow and gives him a scorching look, and he thinks maybe he's imagined it until she turns to kiss the Not-Fred on the mouth.

The Not-Fred has very George hands. Also, probably a very George ear. Which means that could be anyone, really, mauling his wife, looking like Fred never will and doing things only George ever has.

Polyjuice. Must be. It's not like Malfoy would turn her down.

Right then. George is watching Not-George touch his wife. In a very familiar manner, all told. He'd chalk it up to something gone wrong from the shop, only somewhere in the messy kissing, she snakes a hand behind her back and crooks a finger at him.

George is confused, sure, and possibly a bit concerned, but he can't stop himself from crossing the room, stopping just shy of touching her, too. She arches her neck then, breaks the kiss and curls her fingers in Not-Fred's hair. She leans back into him, eases a little space between her and the mysterious Not, and when she settles back against George's chest, she sighs.

It is absolutely a mistake to watch that red, swollen mouth, just like it's a mistake to watch her face, to let himself touch until he knows who the Not is. Still, Pansy this close and sort of squirming like she's already wet, that has never been good for George's self-control.

"Panse," George starts, oh-so-cautious of the Not. "Panse, what is this?"

"Me, being a good wife."

Not-George blurts a laugh. It's...familiar. Nearly _Fred_.

"Pansy," he tries, because he knows he should, only she's so _his_ , he just knows she'll be easy and loose if he-- and it's hotter than he thinks it should be, watching her and her Not.

She drags a hand over his cheek, lets her thumb linger over his mouth, then steals the advantage to tug him in for a kiss. More teeth than tongue, that kiss, which shuts him right up.

"You know, Earless, you're not usually this slow," she teases when she pulls back a little, lets him breathe again.

Not-Fred lifts his head to look at him with very brotherly concern. George can't help noticing how spit-slicked the Not's mouth is, can't help wondering what marks he'll find on Pansy's throat.

"You all right, George? I can go, if you'd rather?"

George isn't sure at all what do with that concern. "No, no, it's fine. Isn't it?" He has to ask Pansy, needs to be sure she's in this, too, that she's not just doing it for him. The bloody lifelong fantasy he's never shared. He's trying very, very hard not to wonder how she knew. He's sure he's never said...

Pansy laughs then, low and rich and _hot_ , and he's not surprised at all to hear her suggest it's time for bed.

 

***

 

He forgets sometimes that Fred isn't there. Forgets, sometimes, that Fred _should_ be, that it wasn't meant to be George on his own. It's been years since he's started a sentence and waited for anyone to fill in the rest, which is just as well, and it's been longer still since he's expected anyone to try to share his girl.

Surprising, how quickly it comes back.

 

***

 

George doesn't know whether he can touch, whether Not-Fred will let him go that far, and there's no way to ask without interrupting Pansy's show. She's all over the Not from the second they hit the bedroom, pulling his shirt off, palming his chest, sucking mercilessly at his jaw while she gets a little vicious with her nails.

Kissing his wife is automatic when she looks at him like that, just one of the many things he can't help while she's around, and it's easy to give in when she slips back a little, prods him into kissing the Not. It's familiar--shouldn't be but it _is_ \--and awkward and rough, clumsier than he expects, but the sounds the Not makes are encouraging and Pansy's sandwiching herself between them, tugging at his clothes, moving between them like she plans to stay.

He's never seen Fred in a proper, grown up shag--that's _not_ Fred, he knows it, just like it's not _him_ but...--and, to be honest, he hasn't really seen himself at it, either, not with her, so he doesn't mind at all getting moved aside when his brother-- _not_ , it's _not_ \--pulls his wife down, pushes up her skirt. Then there's a tangle of limbs and wet sounds and he can tell what Fred's doing, how close Fred is, by the way Pansy moves, fucking herself up onto Fred's fingers just like she fucks up on his sometimes. That's, fuck, George doesn't even have _words_ for it, he's curling fists so he won't touch, and when Fred gets a mouthful of Pansy's nipple for a long, ruthless suck, he picks the side that means George can, too.

Pansy's fingers knot in his hair. She arches her back, pushes her breasts up into them while she holds them down, making little cooing sounds like she thinks she needs to keep them both relaxed.

Like this isn't exactly how George's life is meant to go.

Pansy's so tight when he pushes in, working his dick inside her beside Fred's, feeling her whole body tense, her fingers digging into Fred's arm until George is as far in as he dares.

She shivers. Shudders. Breathes deep through her nose and bears down, sinks that much more of him in. Fred watches both of them with that _fuck_ so Freddish concern, all bad ideas and that instinct not to let his brother get hurt. George thought watching Fred's cock disappear inside his wife was as good as it got, the hottest thing he'd see in his life, but that look and the way Pansy smells, all musk and sweat and _sex_ , that just blows the scale to shit, leaves him nothing to cling to but the way it feels to be wedged in with that dick, rubbing against it as they move.

He knows that's not Fred, that it can't be, _except_...

Except they're moving together like George always thought they could, in synch faster than he's ever been with anyone else, and when George nuzzles into Pansy's hair, Fred's hand comes up to touch George's face. Another long look, all heat and intensity, and another kiss, all the need and affection he's missed so much.

Gred murmurs into his mouth, "Come on, Forge, _come on_ ," like he did, so patiently impatient for his brother to catch up, _together, yeah_ , and George can't help himself, really, he just has to let himself go.

 

***

 

He's never sure who the Not-Fred is, who she'd talked into taking the Polyjuice or why they'd agreed. Not Harry or Malfoy or Blaise, he thinks, quite possibly no one he knows.

Quite probably someone he does. Which is something to think about, that.

"Think you're clever, do you?"

Pansy smirks. "You know I do, yeah."

Fuck, George loves his wife.

 

~f~


End file.
